Twenty-Seven Hours
by foreverlasting24
Summary: A disaster strikes at Alex and Jo's wedding, and the Grey Sloan Memorial surgeons' attempts to save their friends make the next 27 hours a nightmare. [Cristina/Owen centric, with a few of your other favorites thrown in].
1. Prologue

The first person that ever broke my heart was my father.

Then it was Preston Burke, who took it—choked with chains and bundled in bubble wrap—and let pieces fall under a blazing fire.

And then there was Owen, who stomped and stretched and smashed it up. Testing its muscular walls, letting the blood boil through its rollercoaster veins. Breaking it, and mending it all the same.

You know how some people say that they've left their heart on sandy beach, or in a historic town, or in the palm of somebody else's hand? As if a heart could be separated, and still continue beating. As if you couldn't move on after leaving something or someone, or become as resilient as those walls inside your chest.

It was all bullshit to me. Sure, I've had my heart broken—during tragic car accidents and at weddings left unfinished and battling screaming fights in a beaten down firehouse and on little planes that crashed in the middle of the woods. I've had my heart broken more times than I would ever admit. But I couldn't believe that a strong, human heart could collapse from emotion, or that we, as the creatures who owned them, couldn't bear to pick up the pieces and walk away with them.

But then, I came back to Seattle.

After that, it wasn't quite bullshit anymore.


	2. I'm Fine

**Cristina**

Cristina looks at herself in the mirror, outside the dressing room at possibly the most hipster wedding chapel she has ever seen. Worried that she would be unforgivably late, Cristina had gotten ready in the airport bathroom. Her wild curls dance around her face, and her lipstick is smeared slightly on the crook of her lip, and the dark blue "groomswoman" dress that Alex had mailed to her was horribly wrinkled against her body.

She sighs, defeated, as she realizes that at this moment, she looks far from being the highly renowned, Harper Avery award winning, cardiothoracic surgeon that she is. Instead, she looks more like middle-aged woman who scurried out of bed and got dressed ten minutes ago.

"Wow, Karev," Meredith says, as Cristina walks into the dressing room. She and Alex have their backs turned, and they don't notice her entrance above their conversation. "This place is _so_ like you and Jo."

Cristina smiles, silent in agreement as her two best friends continue not to notice her in the room. While Alex had told her a little bit about the place, it is nothing that she expected. Alex and Jo had renovated an old bar in the outskirts of Seattle. There are rose-shaped LED lights hanging on walls, and candles cornering the large space, and much to Cristina's content, a twenty-four hour bar that Alex had assured to be open all night. Even the dressing room, tucked in the back of the building, is fully lit and decorated.

"You okay?" Meredith asks Alex, as she straightens his tie. Alex looks so cleaned up, so grown, that Cristina hardly recognizes him. "You look like you're going to break into a cold sweat."

"I'm fine," Alex says, shaking his head. "I just… last time I did this, it didn't work out so well."

Meredith laughs, but before she can respond, her mouth drops open as she finally catches Cristina standing at the doorway. Following her glance, Alex grins.

"You're here!" Meredith exclaims, giving Cristina a tight hug. Although she and Meredith talk on blurry videochats on Skype and quick calls in between surgeries, they haven't seen each other face to face in over a year, which is when she first left Seattle. "To be honest, I thought you might bail. You and planes aren't the best mix."

"Speak for yourself, Meredith Grey," she responds, then turns to Alex. "For the record, I'd put all my cards on the table for Evil Spawn and Homeless Girl."

"It's been less than a minute," he says to her, as he wraps his arms around her, "and you're already pissing me off."

"You're welcome."

Alex punches her shoulder. "Thank you for coming."

"Oh, don't get all mushy," Cristina says, waving him off, but if any more sentimentality escapes into this room, she is sure she will start tearing up. "Aren't you supposed to have more groomsmen? Or are all your friends women?"

On cue, Jackson walks in, disgruntled as he slides on his jacket. If Cristina isn't mistaken, he looks more of a mess than she does.

"Yang," he greets, shaking off his solemn expression. "Good to see you."

Cristina squints at him. "Why do you look like that?"

"And I take that back," he says, as Meredith and Cristina exchange amused glances. "Sorry I'm late, man," he says to Alex. "April and I are just having a hard time after Cassidy was born, and we had trouble with the babysitter and—"

"Don't worry about it," Alex says quickly.

"Well, you fellas have your male-bonding time," Meredith says, grabbing Cristina by the hand. "I'm going to show Cristina the balcony. I'll see you guys in there."

Reluctantly, Cristina agrees to be led by the hand out the door. "Mer, you do realize that I have properly functioning _legs_ , right?"

"Which is actually what makes this whole dragging-you-around business _so_ much easier."

Cristina rolls her eyes, as Meredith takes her through maroon-colored French doors that in fact extend into a small balcony on the side of the venue. Cristina hadn't before, but looking out into a clear sky and the flame of Seattle lights, she realizes they are on large hill. Close enough to jump into the city in front of them, but far enough to be considered on the outside.

"Wow, this is really beautiful—"

Meredith puts up a hand, and stares at Cristina with a serious, hard expression. "Are you okay?"

Cristina blinks. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, like, emotionally, how are you doing?" Meredith clarifies, but Cristina continues to give her a confused expression, so she continues. "Because you and me, I know we just say we're okay all the time. And most of the time, we're not really okay, but we give that bullshit 'I'm fine' response, because we know that we will be. So what I'm asking is, at this moment in time—not tomorrow or five months from now—are you okay?"

"Meredith," Cristina says slowly. "What's going on?"

Meredith swallows. "Just don't freak out."

"Just tell me."

"Owen is here," Meredith spills.

"What?" Cristina shrieks, and she can feel her heart quickening, a panic stirring. "I thought you said he was—"

"I know, but he's back."

"I can't see him," Cristina says, out of breath like she'd been running a marathon. "I look like a mess! And my lipstick is all out of whack, and my shoes are _killing_ me. And a wedding? This is _not_ how I envisioned seeing him again."

"There's one more thing," Meredith says hesitantly. "He's seated at the same table as us."

"What?!"

"I tried to get Wilson to switch it, but she was on her whole I'm-getting-married-leave-me-alone craze yesterday and did not want anything to do with me—"

"Oh God, Mer, what am I going to do?" Cristina closes her eyes, puts her hand against her head, and starts to pace in the small area of the balcony. "It's like going to the dentist. I need _warning_ , at least a week in advance, before they start drilling holes in my teeth. And no, as a surgeon, that is _not_ hypocritical."

"Cristina, if I had given you warning, you would have never come."

"Not true," she says, although she knows damn well that it is.

"You are Cristina Yang, okay?" Meredith says, placing her hands on Cristina's shoulder to stop her rampant movements. "You've won the Harper Avery, and you're nominated again this year. You are a _badass_. You do not let men define who you are, or how you feel at the end of the day. The only person in control of that is _you_."

Cristina turns away from Meredith and leans her arms against the balcony railing. She can see Schuster Parkway below her, and the pileup of cars and trucks—those tiny twinkling lights against a darkening sky.

"So I'm going to ask again," Meredith says behind her. She puts a hand on Cristina's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Cristina takes a breath. Meredith is wrong about one thing: when it came to Owen, the amount of control she has is always uncertain.

Sure enough, though, she turns around and gives Meredith a smile. "I'm fine."


	3. The Timing of It All

**Owen**

This is his third drink.

And he's thinking about timing. And timeliness. And the essence of time. The way it works out when you're lost and frustrated and angry and the lowest you've ever been, and suddenly there's her light to guide you back to where you want to be. The way you fall in love, with the right person, at the right time. The way you can't imagine that you'll ever fall out of it, even if you want to, even if you tried, even if time gave you its godly blessing. It's sentimental, and he almost laughs to himself, because time can be an amazing thing.

This is his third drink.

And he's thinking about the way humans are always yearning for time, because while it is nourishing and fulfilling and generous, time is cruel and monotonous, and it waits for no one. You cannot grasp more time to sober up. You cannot buy the time you need when your patient is dying, faster than a waterfall slope, in front of your eyes. We miss our chances, day in and day out, and we blame time for letting gold slide through our fingers and missing the moment and letting go for somebody else's hand. We mask it, and we forfeit this thing called regret, and we tell time to take it, because we don't want it, even though it's there.

This is his third drink.

And he's thinking about Cristina. About her hair and the way it cascades down her back, over her shoulder. About the way she smiles, and even though it's not often, it can light up a room. About making love, and loving her, and its reciprocation.

Owen downs the rest of his scotch, and nods thank you to the bartender. His tour is done, an opportunity has come to an end. Gloved hands inside soldiers' bodies. The thrill of military trauma surgery. Distractions. It's odd to him that even when he was running away, coming back home has only made him realize how you never quite feel like you want to stop.

"Hunt!"

Owen shakes off his thoughts and turns around to see April striding toward him. "Dr. Kepner," he greets, although it comes out more of a slur. He is unaware of how much the alcohol hit him, so soon. "It's good to see you."

"You as well," April says, and Owen senses her hesitancy, at his inebriation for sure, but also his ruggedness and uneasiness. "Webber told me you would be coming back this week, but I had no idea you'd make it to the wedding."

"I wouldn't miss it."

"How was it?" she asks, and she bites her lip. "I mean, was it what you expected?"

Owen nods. "It was great. There's a high you get when you're out there. Saving lives has a whole new meaning, you know? You should head out there next time, give it a chance."

"I would," April responds, smiling. "But with the baby just being born and—"

"Oh, God," Owen says, putting his hand on his head. "I didn't even ask. Congratulations, Kepner. I am so happy for you and Avery. Truly."

"Thank you. You'll get to meet her back at the hospital tomorrow."

Before Owen can respond, a tinkering of glass brings their attention to the front of the room. Stephanie stands behind a microphone, a frilly pink dress slipped on, grinning wide as she clanks a spoon against her champagne glass.

"Thank you all for coming," she says into the microphone, as the noise level dies down. She clears her throat. "We will be starting the ceremony shortly, so please take your seats."

"I guess that's our cue," April says. "I'll catch you later, Dr. Hunt."

Owen smiles, nodding as April turns to find her seat.

Scanning the room, he spots his table number at the left side of the room, along the aisle. As he walks closer, he notices Derek laughing, and Bailey and Ben across from him. When they spot Owen, they all stand to shake hands and welcome him home. And for a moment, with familiar faces around him, a calmness starts to settle inside him. He doesn't know if it's partially the alcohol, but he starts to relax as he engages in conversations with people he missed. It feels like it's been centuries.

"I have to say," Derek says, holding up his glass to Owen, "I'm surprised you came."

Owen laughs. "I've been getting that a lot tonight. You are aware that I flew back to Seattle three nights ago, and I've officially recuperated, right?"

"Oh, it's not that," Derek insists, and Owen notices he is looking around. "I wouldn't even blink twice if I saw you back at work a few hours after you arrived. I just mean that—"

"All right, everyone!" Stephanie's voice resurfaces in the front of the room, causing both men to turn their heads. "If you know Jo and Alex," she begins, clasping the microphone between her hands, "then you'll know that nothing about them is normal."

Chuckles fill the room, as Owen turns to say something, only to find that Derek is actively avoiding his gaze.

"And that includes their wedding ceremony," Stephanie continues. "Now, before we bring out the bride and groom, please put your hands together and welcome their wedding party."

Owen smiles, clapping as he watches as bridesmaids Leah, Callie, and Maggie, cloaked in the same pink as Stephanie, walk down the aisle. As Callie passes Owen, she gives him a high five. Meredith follows closely behind, and she beams at both Owen and Derek as she walks past their table. And then, when Owen turns back around to see the rest of Alex's groomsmen, he almost stumbles out of his chair. He blinks once. Twice. He can't believe his eyes.

All of a sudden, as he keeps his gaze steady on her face and the way she glides down the aisle, it doesn't seem as long as he thought. In fact, it feels like yesterday that he was in the OR, watching as she waved goodbye to him in the gallery. It feels just a moment ago, that he's touched her, held her. He isn't sure that she notices him, because she keeps her eyes straight to the front, but he wants to reach out and grab her hand, spin her around, just to make sure his eyes and his mind aren't deceiving him.

But he doesn't. His feet stay rooted, hands still, as he watches her walk away from him, not for the first time.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Stephanie says, as the wedding party stands behind her. Owen notices that Cristina keeps her hands intertwined, head down. He knows that she knows that he is here. "As maid of honor, and online-certified minister, I ask that you please rise for the bride and groom: Jo and Alex!"

Owen stands, as Alex and Jo appear in the front, hands intertwined. As they exchange vows, and the room becomes chaotic, Cristina finally looks up. When her gaze meets his, he finds himself smiling. Somehow, however unexpected, this moment of meeting seems like all he could ask for.

And in the cheers of the crowds, Owen keeps his eyes locked on Cristina's, convincing himself that no matter what happens in the next few hours, he would never break it.


	4. Falling from the Top of the World

**Cristina**

Cristina doesn't realize she is holding her breath. Not until the ceremony ends, and the reception—or as Meredith calls it, the "portion of weddings when everyone gets hammered"—begins. Not until Alex and Jo kiss, and the audience goes wild in cheers, and Cristina feels her shoulders slump and her lungs exhale. Not until Meredith reaches out and touches her shoulder to ask if she is all right, and then walks over to their table, where she embraces her husband.

Not until she finally looks at Owen, who is standing there in his suit, eyes fixated right at her. From the distance, he looks absolutely the same—with his ruffled reddish-blonde hair and his piercing blue eyes, and the way his hands slide into his pockets when their eyes meet. But even so, as she steps forward to him, she notices the subtle differences: the little stubble on his chin, and his need of a hair trim, and his suit a little baggier than she remembers.

He stands still as she walks toward him, and she wonders if he does this purposely.

"Hi," she says softly, not knowing whether to wrap her arms around him or offer a handshake. She doesn't really know where they are, or what's acceptable, if anything at all, so she settles for an awkward wave of a hand.

As if he is sensing her dilemma—and he could, because she knows he knows her well, he gives her a smile. "Hi," he says back. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you," she says, and she's trying hard not to blush, or let his words affect her. Meredith, who is across the table and easily eavesdropping on their conversation, raises her eyebrows.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asks, surprising her. But she follows him toward the bar and sits beside him at the stool.

"Tequila," she says to the bartender, and she hears Owen laugh immediately.

"Sorry," he says at her sharp look. "I should have known what you'd order. I kind of miss how predictable it is."

She holds back a grin. "Well," she says, taking the shot glass the bartender hands her. "I'm sure you don't miss drunk me. Remember the last time I got wasted?"

"Which time?" he muses, and puts a finger on his chin. "When you showed up at the trailer and we did it on the couch? Or a few years ago, when you thought you could make a living as a bartender?"

"Oh, shut up."

"You brought it up."

Cristina finds herself laughing, hard. It's almost crude to bring up those years. It makes her happy, and it's nostalgic, but it's also a little empty too, like feeding memories into a tube that will only set them free, anyway. Thinking this, she swallows the shot of tequila and winces as it burns the back of her throat.

"So how's it feel owning your own hospital?" Owen asks, taking a swig of his beer.

"It's great," Cristina answers, and she means it. "I'm working with just really smart people, and the research is phenomenal. Not to mention the surgeries. Last week, a skydiver came in with a ruptured aorta, and he should have been dead in minutes, but we were able to repair it easily with a conduit. It was amazing."

She doesn't know if it's the immediate rush from the alcohol, or the topic of medicine, but she is rambling. But Owen is nodding, eyes soft and curious, as he's listening. "Wow, that sounds amazing," he says, when she stops talking. "I heard you won the Harper Avery last year, and you're nominated again this year? That's great."

"I try not to think about it," Cristina says, waving her hand. "I'm just glad I get to do the research and the surgeries."

"And own an entire hospital and research facility."

"Yes," Cristina says, chuckling. "That too."

"Well, I'm happy for you. You deserve all of it," he tells her. His hand on the table inches closer to hers, but before their skin makes contact, she moves her hand away and asks the bartender for another shot of tequila.

"Meredith told me you went back to the military?"

"Yeah." Owen nods. "They had a nine-month tour out in the east, and I was appointed lead trauma surgeon."

"Oh…wow. Owen, that's great."

But she is hesitant. She doesn't think it's her business, not anymore, but she wonders how he's doing, if he's all right since coming back. She thinks of him in her shower, suit soppy and blood drunk, and she can't help but see a glimpse of that man, even if it's ever so slightly.

After Cristina downs her third shot of tequila, she notices that the DJ—a gothic looking high school student that continued to play punk-rock for the night—switches the song to a slow, soft ballad. Alex and Jo are in the center of the dance floor. Meredith laughs at something Derek says in her ear. April and Jackson are pressed together, swaying to the music. Bailey and Ben. Callie and Arizona. With couples surrounding her, Cristina has a sudden urge to get up and catch the next flight to Zurich.

But then Owen takes her hand. "Come on," he says, nodding toward the dance floor. "Let's dance."

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. "Are you serious?"

"When have you ever passed an opportunity to dance it out?"

Cristina points up to the ceiling, where the PA system is blasting the sweetest, sappiest love song she has ever heard. "This is hardly the music for it, Owen."

He drags her out of her seat, and pulls her closer to him, so that his breath tickles her ear. "Dance with me anyway."

Without another word, he leads her to the dance floor. He wraps his arms around her waist, and she places her hands on his shoulders, and they stare back at each other like they are crumpled pieces of paper just waiting to be reopened. Even though it's been so long, and even though they never really danced all that much before, this feels natural. Inevitable, even.

"You're different," she murmurs aloud to him.

He laughs. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, for one, I had no idea that you knew what 'dance it out' meant."

"You don't think I know what you and Meredith venture off doing?"

"We aren't always dancing," she says defensively. "Plus, the joke's on you, Mr. Smarty Pants. 'Dance it out' is actually a new pick-up line invented by horny teenagers."

"Is it really?"

"Yeah, it translates to 'hey, want to have sex after I get drunk and high at this super lame nightclub that I used my fake ID to get in?'. Trust me, all the cool kids are using it."

"In that case," he says, leaning in. "Would you like to dance it out?"

She smacks his shoulder with her hand. "Oh, shut up," she says, but she feels her face get hot, and something tells her it isn't just the tequila. "But seriously. You look different. I mean, you look a little worn out."

He looks at her for a second, as if he is trying to read her, and instinctively, Cristina finds herself pulling over her mask. Disguising her emotions so that even he can't tell. "Is this your way of asking if I'm okay?"

"What?" _Damn it._ "No, don't flatter yourself."

"I'm fine, Cristina," he says, smiling. "Don't worry."

"I am _not_ worried."

"If you say so."

"I do say so," she snaps, scowling at him. When she looks past his shoulder, she makes eye contact with Meredith, who gives her a mischievous smile as she watches Cristina and Owen waver through the dance floor.

"How long are you in town for?" he asks her.

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning," she says, and suddenly, it feels rather painful for her to talk about goodbyes. So she pushes it out of her mind. If she has one night with Owen, she wants to be reckless. She wants it to be emotionless and uncomplicated and disarmed. She wants it to mean nothing, but she wants it to mean everything.

So that's why she finds herself leaning into him and pressing her lips against his. She can feel him startled at first, but he overcomes it in a second. He pulls her against him and cradles the back of her head with his hand and kisses her deeper. She doesn't know how long they are kissing, mouths moving against each other like pen across paper—reopening and rewriting—but Cristina doesn't care.

"Let's get out of here," he says, breathing hard as they break apart.

She looks up at him, those eyes full of hunger. "I'll meet you at the bar in a few minutes," she tells him, touching his face. "I just want to freshen up."

He nods, and they go their different directions. Cristina smiles to herself, as she enters the hallway and heads toward the dressing room. Halfway there, though, she realizes she isn't alone.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She whips around to see Meredith walking behind her. "Stalker," she says, but she secretly hoped that Meredith would come looking for her.

"You're cheerful," Meredith states, and then gasps at her best friend as she falls into step beside her. "Do not tell me that you and Owen are about to ditch Alex's wedding to get it on."

"Oh yes," Cristina says, and starts to frolic in her heels, which she discovers is rather difficult. "We are going to _dance it out_ , Mer."

"What?" Meredith furrows her brows sadly. "You just made our catch phrase dirty, and I'm not sure I appreciate it. Now, are you sure you want to do this?"

Cristina nods, and she realizes that they've journeyed back onto the balcony. It is getting dark, with a fiery horizon pouring over the city. An almost ending to this day. "We never got a goodbye, you know?" she says, leaning against the metal railing. "And maybe I don't want to say goodbye, but I know that I want to end it with something good."

"A one night stand, though?" Meredith shakes her head. "Come on, Cristina. This is not what you need. You guys are better than this, you are so much more than—"

"This is _exactly_ what I need," Cristina says quietly.

"All I'm saying is that if you want to make this work with him, you aren't going to do it by getting into bed the minute you guys see each other."

"You're not getting it, Mer," Cristina says, whirling around so that she is facing Meredith. She didn't expect to be crying, but she feels wetness on her cheeks. "I don't _want_ to work it out. There is nothing _to_ work out. Nothing has changed in the last year and half. I went to conquer the world of heart surgery, and he ran away to the army. Nothing has changed. So no, I'm sorry, Mer, but you're wrong. We are _not_ better than this."

Exhaling, Cristina faces back to the scenery and tries her best to hold it together.

"Cristina," she hears Meredith say. "Maybe I don't get it, but I know that you and Owen have something that will always be there. Like me and you. So I'm here, all right, Cristina? I'm here. Whatever you do, I'm here for you. Come find me later, okay?"

And with that, Meredith's footsteps distance down the hall, and Cristina presses her hands against her head as she looks down at the highway, at the little cars speeding through. It's easy to feel like you're on top of the world, on this balcony, but she knows somewhere in those big tall skyscrapers or on a plane flying across Seattle, someone is thinking the same thing.

She has a choice to make. She could go back in, sleep with Owen, and say goodbye again. Or she could take a cab to the airport, and let it all fall behind her, and move on. Either way, the outcomes are the same.

When she is ready to turn back to the reception, ultimately deciding to follow her last minute instincts, she feels the metal under her hands rattle. Her legs start to shake, and she can see the little cracks on the cement underneath her feet. She looks around, panicking, as she watches the entire balcony shake vehemently.

"Earthquake!" she hears someone scream from inside, as the music stops, and all that surrounds her is the thunderous shattering of the platform beneath her. Cristina grips onto the railing, as she tries her best to move forward, step into the building. Bring herself back onto solid ground. But when she realizes that she is going to fall, no matter where she wanders in this tiny arena, she holds on for dear life.

She doesn't realize she is holding her breath.

Not until she watches the balcony detach itself from the venue, and she starts to fall backwards. Not until the railing slips from her fingers, and she starts to grasp the air around her. Not until her entire world goes black.


	5. I'm Not Ready to Leave You

**Owen**

"I saw that kiss."

Owen looks up, startled, and laughs nervously at Derek, who had sneakily slid onto the stool beside him. "Yeah," he says, gulping down a sip of his fourth glass of scotch. "It surprised me too."

"Oh, I wasn't surprised," Derek says, giving him a smile as he grabs his beer from the bartender. While he and Derek grew close throughout the years as the twisted sisters' husbands, it's been a while since Owen has had an actual conversation with him. First, it was because Derek had gone to a job in D.C., which left him hardly in Seattle. And well, ever since Owen jumped on board to do trauma surgery overseas, he hasn't talked much to anyone.

"So what's the deal with you and Yang?"

Owen turns to his other side, and is startled for the second time to see Callie, accompanied by Alex, who is finished with his slow dance with his bride and is in need of a drink. Silently, Owen prays that Cristina returns quickly.

"Nothing is up," Owen says to Callie.

She rolls her eyes, sipping her martini. "Didn't look like nothing."

"Hunt and Yang?" Alex says, hovering closer to them. "There is always something between them. They're never over, like for real."

"Don't you have a _wife_ to be with?" Owen grumbles, but the three of them talk over him.

"That's very true," Derek says, pointing at Alex in agreement. "They weren't even over when they signed a paper saying they were over."

Alex nods emphatically as he dunks half his drink down his throat. "Or like, when she left for Minnesota."

"Dude," Callie says. "Divorce and Minnesota were the same time."

"No, one happened before the other."

"Are you sure? Because I thought—"

"Will you people," Owen grits, setting his glass on the table, "stop talking about me like I'm not here?"

The three of them nearly topple over in fits of laughter, their drunken humor hardly taking effect on Owen. Even though he is a bit tipsy, he is not hammered enough to entertain himself in the silliness.

"Aw, Hunt," Callie says, patting him on the shoulder. "You look sad."

Owen doesn't respond. Instead, he twirls his glass with his fingers and looks down at the bubbles, spewing to the surface, in his drink.

"For what it's worth," Callie says, putting her hand over his fidgeting fingers, "I think that people who are meant to be together have the biggest trouble letting go."

 _Letting go._

He can't even picture what that possibly means, what that would even feel like. Owen has accepted a lot of things. He's accepted Cristina's undying, selfish, and inordinate love for surgery, which often takes the place of things that could have been for them. He's accepted the idea of acceptance, and that love is not about compromise, not about give or take, and that love is almost never enough. He's accepted that she has left the country, that she has found happiness in something she has always deserved. But letting go seems like a hurdle he is not strong enough to jump over. Letting go involves walking away from something you're not ready to leave behind.

And he isn't ready. He imagines that he'll never be ready.

"Did you feel that?" Derek asks, breaking Owen's thoughts. He looks over at Derek, who has his hands on the bar countertop and is looking suspiciously around him.

"What?" Callie asks, raising her eyebrows.

But Owen feels it, too. The slow, careful growling underneath his hands, the bottom of his chair.

"The ground is shaking."

A heartbeat passes, and suddenly, the glasses and bottles behind the bartender start chiming, sweet and eerie music. But then, they start to shatter, one by one across the bar. First, the Johnny Walker on the top right corner. The strawberry rum on the bottom shelf. The line of expensive Chardonnay. The bartender, nameless, couches under the table with his hands over his head as the venue's collection of alcohol topple over.

"Earthquake!" someone from the hallways screams, and the DJ cuts the music, unveiling sounds of chaos.

"Meredith!" Derek shouts, standing up from his seat and scanning the room with alarmed, worried eyes. "Where the hell is my wife?"

 _Where's Cristina?_ Owen thinks, but he does not say this aloud. He is a trauma surgeon. He moves fast, and he thinks faster. But at this moment, his feet stay rooted on the filthy bar floor, as he is stricken with sheer panic.

He watches, still, as Callie and Arizona duck for cover under the bar table, and Alex and Jo and Bailey and Ben and Richard and Catherine follow their lead. He watches as the decorations behind the stage fall over, so that the wall becomes bare, an empty slate. He watches as the lights flicker, and the hanging glass ornaments demolish as they fall on the floor and on people, and screams lift between the oxygen in the air. He watches as the lights dim and darken, until he can't see anything, and Derek flashes his cell phone at him.

"I need to find Meredith," Derek says out loud. And just like that, the earthquake ends, an insurmountable amount of damage complete in less time it takes to change a tire, to stitch a wound, to kiss someone. Owen finds that while the ground isn't coming apart, he is still shaking.

Finally, he turns to look at Derek. "I'll come with you. Cristina said she was heading to the bathroom in the dressing room."

"Help!" a woman's voice calls. "Somebody help me!"

Derek shines his phone towards the sound, and sees April leaning over Jackson, who his lying back on the ground, eyes closed. From the small light on Derek's phone, they see a large, bleeding gash on his head.

"Oh, thank God," April says when she sees Derek and Owen, as tears run down her face. As the light shines on her face, Owen notices that she has several cuts along her arm and her neck. "Something hit him. I don't know what it was because it was so dark, but he's knocked unconscious. He just…he fell into my arms and pulled me down. I-I don't know what happened."

Derek crouches down and presses his finger against the side of Jackson's neck. "He still has a pulse," he announces, as Owen examines the gash. The cut is deeper than he expects.

Alex comes up beside them, along with Arizona and Callie, their phone lights brightening up the space. "Is he okay?" Arizona asks.

"It could be just a concussion, or it could be something more serious," Derek tells them, putting his hand against his head in frustration. "I won't know for sure because I don't have any damn machines."

April starts to sob. "Oh, my God," she cries, gripping onto Jackson's hand. "Please be okay, Jackson. Please."

"Jo and I will go check on the roads," Alex says, standing up. "We'll see how bad the damage is, and we can get Jackson in a cab back to the hospital."

"The roads are going to be a madhouse," Callie tells him. "If there is even any solid ground for you to drive on. This was one hell of an earthquake."

"It's worth a try," Alex snaps, and he disappears into the darkness.

"Shepherd," Owen says, and he and Derek exchange a knowing glance.

"I have a suturing kit in my car," Arizona says, looking at April's cuts. "I'm going to go get it."

"I'll go with you," Callie insists, grabbing her wife's arm.

"Here, here," a voice says, and a familiar face lifts underneath the glowing light. Meredith holds out a small white box. "I always carry a spare in my trunk."

 _Where's Cristina?_ Owen's heart starts to beat faster, as he looks behind Meredith to find any trace of Cristina.

"Oh my God," Derek says, letting out a breath of relief. He grabs Meredith's shoulder, kisses her head. "Thank God you're okay."

 _Where's Cristina?_

"I have a couple of scrapes," Meredith says. "The parking lot looks completely torn up. We are literally on top of a hill… I'm not even sure we'll be able to get out. Not to mention it's completely dark outside."

When she hands out the white box, and Callie starts to sew up April's cuts, Meredith looks around at the familiar faces around her. When her eyes meet Owen's, they widen.

"Where's Cristina?" Owen and Meredith ask at the same time. When they realize this, they both stand up.

"She didn't come back here?" Meredith says, as she covers her mouth in horror.

"I thought you were with her," Owen shouts, almost menacingly. "Why the hell did you guys separate?"

"She was getting ready to meet you," she responds, tears welling up in her eyes. "I thought she'd have already made it out here. She was on... oh my God, Owen, she was on the balcony."

"Go," Callie says, overhearing this. "Go find Yang. We've got it covered here."

They do not waste a breath. Tripping over chairs and huddled people and spilt drinks, a cell phone their only light, Owen and Meredith sprint down the hallway towards the balcony. As they knock through the French doors, they nearly fall over, catching each other as they realize that the small platform that was the balcony is completely detached, large pieces fallen onto the ground, two stories below.

"Oh my God," Meredith gasps, looking down.

As Owen makes his way towards the edge of what's left of the balcony, gripping onto the railing, he shines his cell phone light to the ground. Sprawled against cracked, broken pieces of cement is a mess of black, curly hair. Feet hidden by the metal of the railings. Hands that were balled into fists unclenching.

 _Where's Cristina?_

Owen jumps.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews so far. You guys are so kind! This is my first hand at writing something more suspenseful like this... I hope it's turning out okay. Again, thank you for taking time out to comment. Ya'll really keep me going!**


	6. Raindrops Are Falling On My Head

**Owen**

When he lands onto the ground—or rather, the rocky pieces of the balcony cement—he pictures himself seven years ago. Saving lives in the midst of chaos. Finding a glimmer of reverie in a fountain of nightmares. Fear nested in the depths of obscurity. Uncertainty.

Owen is so concentrated on the unconscious figure that rests beside him that he doesn't realize he twisted his ankle. He limps over to where Cristina is laying. She is half on her back, half on her side, he notices, and her black curly hair is all over face. A large block of cement is pressed on top of the right side of her chest, and her legs are half covered with pieces of rocks.

"Cristina," he says, his heart beating fast. Carefully, he pushes the hair out of her face, exposing cuts on her cheekbones, fresh blood smeared on her forehead. Her eyes are closed, her mouth a thin line. He moves the large block—which is heavy enough to cause extreme internal damage—gently off of her, and moves her so that she is laying on her back.

"Owen!" He hears a voice ahead of him and sees Meredith balancing with her arms as she walks from the parking lot towards them. "What's going on?"

"Come quick," he says, as he presses two fingers against Cristina's neck. He lets go of a little bit of the pressure on his shoulders as he feels a faint, unsteady rhythm. "That huge rock," he tells Meredith, as she comes close enough to hear him clearly, "was crushing her chest. Her pulse is slow and irregular."

Meredith cups her mouth, as she is close enough to see Owen leaning over Cristina's unconscious body. "Oh my God, Cristina," she breathes, as she crouches down and runs her hand over her best friend's cheek.

"Pull it together, Grey," Owen warns, as he notices Meredith's face start to crumble. "She needs us. We can't…we can't afford to fall apart right now."

Tearfully, Meredith nods and presses her hand on Cristina's chest, feeling the quiet, muffled beating against her friend's chest.

"There isn't much signal," Owen says, as he searches on his phone. "But the east side of Seattle isn't as bad as the outskirts, so there's a possibility that the hospital is just fine. If we can just get her into my truck and drive out of here, we can get her scanned. It could just be a concussion, same as Jackson—"

"Owen," Meredith says.

The tone of her voice, hurried and painful, alarms him, and he looks up to see Meredith's ear pressed against Cristina's chest. In a quick motion, she rips the front of Cristina's dress so that it splits in half. Owen's eyes enlarge, as he sees deep, red coloring on Cristina's bare chest.

"Cardiac tamponade," they say at the same time, but he shakes his head, refusing to believe it.

"Owen," Meredith says, her voice persistent. "She fell two stories down, and that huge rock was suffocating her for at least fifteen minutes."

Owen looks at the redness on Cristina's chest, then back at Meredith. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Get me an echocardiogram, then I'll be sure," Meredith snaps, her voice sharp and defensive. "I had to do this with Cristina during the plane crash, on Mark. I'm trusting my gut, Owen. Are you with me or not?"

He looks at her and nods, knowing that he doesn't have a second or two to waste. "I have an emergency kit in my truck. There's a needle in there. Don't move, I'll go get it."

Owen stands up, only to encounter a searing pain on his ankle. He bends down to grasp his leg, wincing, as he starts to limp forward.

Meredith looks at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I think my ankle is broken."

"Who told you to jump off a broken balcony?" she asks impatiently, as she holds out her hand. "Give me your keys."

"I can make it, just give me a second—"

"Owen, we don't have _time_."

Obliging, Owen throws Meredith his keys and watches as she heads into the dark parking lot. Slowly, Owen kneels on the ground again, breathing out as the pain on his leg subsides with the pressure against it. He looks at Cristina, with her torn up dress and her chest open, and feels a different kind of pain altogether.

"Please don't leave me," he whispers, covering her scraped-up hand with his. He caresses her knuckles with his thumb, sighing as he realizes how utterly depraved it is that he is begging these words to her, at this moment, while she is lying there with barely a breath from her lips or raindrops in her eyes or an ear to bend forward. Owen closes his eyes and tries to hold it together. He refuses to fall apart. He cannot bear to. But there is a pang in his chest, a ringing in his ear, a voice that won't stop insisting that the war is over and that he has lost. Owen clenches Cristina's fingers tightly, as if he is afraid that she will slip away in front of him.

When Meredith returns, two shadows lift behind her. Alex curses when he spots Cristina on the ground, and Jo, who is lifting her dirtied puffy wedding dress, runs ahead of Meredith.

"Here," Jo says, handing Owen the emergency kit. "What can I do?"

"How long has it been since you've done a pericardiocentesis?" Meredith asks, out of breath as she resumes her spot on the other side of Cristina. "We need to drain the fluid out of her pericardial sac before her heart stops beating."

"I'll do it," Alex offers quickly, crouching beside Owen. "I did one last week on a kid who got into a bike accident. Give me a knife and a spinal needle."

Owen reaches into the kit and hands Alex the items. Carefully, Alex slices an incision in the center of Cristina's chest. Almost immediately, an overflow of blood starts to bubble out. Owen reaches over and presses a gauze on it. He squeezes Cristina's hand.

"Don't puncture the heart," Owen warns, as Alex picks up the needle and estimates its angle.

"Are you sure that's the right angle?" Meredith asks, eyeing the direction of the needle.

"Will you two shut up?" Alex growls, glaring at them. "I need to concentrate, and I can't do it if you two don't shut up."

Owen and Meredith grow quiet, exchanging silent glances and internal woes, as Alex pushes the needle into Cristina's chest. They all stare as the fluid starts to drain through the needle's tube.

"She should be awake," Meredith says, as a few seconds pass. "If we're draining the fluid, she should start to wake up. Why isn't she awake?"

"Give it a few minutes," Jo says hesitantly.

"Cristina?" Owen says, but her face is still, unmoving. "Cristina!"

"If she's unconscious, she's not going to freaking hear you," Meredith barks at him.

"Maybe she hit her head," Alex says, as he continues to hold the needle. "Did anyone check her head?"

"I did," Owen says. "There aren't any big cuts or scrapes."

"It could be just a concussion," Alex says.

"What if it's sepsis?"

"We are _not_ having another Mark situation, do you hear me?"

"Or it could be internal bleeding," Jo says. "If she didn't hit her head on anything substantial."

"She flew from two stories and the balcony fell with her," Owen yells, throwing his hands in the air. "Of course she landed on something _substantial._ "

Meredith stands up. "Yeah but _you_ said there weren't any gashes on her head—"

"We need to get her to the hospital," Owen says. "We're just going to keep arguing if we don't."

"The hospital is twenty minutes away from here," Jo tells him. "Alex and I just checked the area. It's dark, and the roads are completely cracked. Plus, we're on a hill, and we're going to risk the possibility of an aftershock hitting us on the way."

Owen stands up and hobbles a few feet away, angrily kicking the pieces of cement.

"You're going to injure your good leg," Meredith calls to him.

He ignores this, cursing to himself. He is trauma surgeon, for God's sakes. He has a skill for finding resources in situations where there are none. He has a way of creating a solution, out of thin air. He is a savior, out in the field, where people die all the time. But seeing Cristina, lying unresponsive, he can't think. He can't get a grip on himself. He is left abandoning the single part of him that can guide her back.

"Oh my God," Alex breathes, interrupting Owen's thoughts. "She's opening her eyes."

"Hunt!" Meredith shouts, her voice shrill. "Come back here. Cristina's waking up."

He turns around, forgetting the pain in his leg as he makes his way back to Cristina. Owen leans over her, as she lets out airy and thick coughs. Her chocolate brown eyes peer into his, as she tries to lift her head and sit up. He lifts her from under her arms and lets her rest her head against his knees. Gently, he cups her face in his hands and pushes back the hair on her face.

Meredith squeezes Cristina's hand. "Cristina? Can you hear me?"

Cristina looks at Meredith, an uncommon occurrence of fear traced in her eyes.

"Can you speak?"

Cristina opens her mouth, but chokes on her words. Her body shakes, as she cough violently into the air. She flinches, and Owen can tell that she feels the pain of the needle, the cuts on her face and her arms and legs, the bruises against her back.

"I know it hurts," he says softly, stroking her hair. She looks at him, at the tears in his eyes, and she starts to mirror him. "But you're okay, Cristina. You're going to be okay."

She nods and closes her eyes, letting the raindrops roll against her cheeks. He brushes them away, as he finally lets his own fall.

* * *

 **A/N: Apologies for the late-ish update! I was out of town this week, so not much time to write. Please excuse any medical errors in this chappy, I'm not an expert (although I honestly sometimes wish I was).**

 **Thank you again so much for your reviews! Especially Hikari no Sadame \- thank you for taking time to write such kind reviews. Your feedback is so very much appreciated!**


	7. All We Can Do is Keep Breathing

**Cristina**

 _The weather is cruel,_ Cristina decides.

But she is only thinking this because her neck is in pain, and the only time it isn't excruciatingly throbbing is when she is looking up at the sky. Because God, it's a beautiful sky. There are so many white glimmery stars, pressed up against a kind of indigo blanketing that makes you feel safe under it. This makes Cristina want to laugh hysterically, because in this moment, with her back against broken cement and her limbs like jello and her neck trembling, she does not feel the least bit safe.

"What's so funny?" Owen's voice tears through her thoughts, as he notices that she is laughing.

"I can't move my neck that well," she says, her voice like sandpaper.

He moves his head so that it's directly above hers, so that all she can see is his blue eyes, under all that safety. This makes her want to laugh even harder. "Why is that funny?"

"It's not," she says softly, collecting herself. "It's really not."

Owen runs his fingers through her hair, pulling the blood-stained strands behind her ear. He keeps his hand there, and she thinks, _Maybe. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to feel safe, to just let myself fall into his arms, to just…_ Cristina finds herself closing her eyes and relaxing in his arms. "Hey, don't fall asleep," he says to her. Her eyes fly open; she doesn't realize how weak she is, how tired her body feels. "You need to stay awake. Meredith is calling a helicopter to come get you and Jackson. Everything's going all right, Cristina. You just need to stay awake."

"Everything hurts," she groans, and it's true. She doesn't remember ever being in this much pain. Her chest feels suffocated and heavy, a sure case that there is an infection in her lungs, and her head feels like she banged her skull on a brick wall a couple of times, and she is pretty sure her left wrist is broken. But when she closes her eyes, when she lets herself unfold, the pain becomes an anesthetic, daring to sing her to sleep.

"I know," Owen says, and he looks at her so sadly, with so much sympathetic pity, that she wants to curl away. But she can't move. For once, Cristina cannot run. She cannot escape needing someone. She cannot crawl out of his intense, concerned gaze. She cannot even close her eyes, and it scares the crap out of her.

Two minutes later, Meredith comes back, which gives Cristina relief, as all she and Owen were doing for what seemed like forever was staring back at each other—a silent conversation that didn't have any conclusions.

"I called the hospital," Meredith says, kneeling next to Cristina. "They're coming with a bunch of helicopters. We're going to try to get everyone who's injured out of here. How are you doing, Cristina?"

"I'm fine," she says, and Meredith gives her a look acknowledging that she knows Cristina is far from that.

"How's Jackson?" Owen asks Meredith.

Cristina looks back and forth from Owen to Meredith, ignoring the sharp pain in her neck. "What happened to Jackson?"

"He's awake," Meredith says to Owen. "But I think he's hit his head pretty badly. He's borderline delusional, but Derek is monitoring him."

Owen curses. "Is anyone else hurt?"

"It's so dark in there, but only minor injuries from what I can tell," Meredith says, frustrated. "I have Wilson and Edwards doing stitches."

"Good."

"Alex is coming back with a suturing kit so we can get some of Cristina's cuts glued back. God, it's so awful that this is happening on their wedding day—"

"Thank you, upper spirits," Cristina murmurs sleepily.

"Cristina," Meredith says alarmingly, shaking her arm, and then looking at Cristina apologetically as she winces in pain. "You need to stay awake, okay?"

"I _can't,_ " Cristina moans, tears stinging her eyes. She doesn't want to fall apart like this. She wants to keep her heart together, even if her bones are breaking and her muscles are weakening and her skin is jigsawed. "Mer, please. I _can't._ "

"You have to," Meredith whispers, sunken as she squeezes Cristina's hand. "Do it for me, okay? Stay awake for me."

"Mer—"

Before Cristina can protest more, Alex appears by her side with the kit and takes out the items. "Okay, Yang, I'm going to numb the right side of your face. We need to get that cut sown up before it gets infected."

"I don't need numbing, Alex, I'm perfectly fine—"

"Oh, shut up, Cristina. Stop acting like you're all right, when you're not," Alex says. He doesn't say this in a comforting way, or even a loving way, but somehow, it's exactly what Cristina needs to hear. As he moves Cristina's face gently to the side, so that he can angle the injection, she realizes that she is being forced to look at Owen. She takes in his eyes, which are magnets on Alex's hands, as he starts to stitch together the flaps on Cristina's cheek. She takes in his suit, the blood spots against his white button-up, and the wrinkles on the cuffs. She takes in the way he still has his hand cradled on her head, his fingers warm.

"Cristina, why don't you tell us a story?" Meredith says cheerily, mistaking her silence as a sign of sleepiness. "Tell us about a surgery, back in Zurich."

"Okay," she says, and clears her throat. Her voice is crackled, sort of like the story that starts to pour out of her mouth. "My first week there, I was a real hardass."

"You mean, more than you're being now?" Alex scoffs, as he reaches for gauze to clean off the corner of the wound.

"Shut up, Karev," Cristina snaps, frustrated that she is unable to turn her head to give him a death glare. She settles for swatting him aimlessly with her free, unbroken arm. "Anyway," she continues, annoyed. "My first week there… I was swamped with paperwork and getting to know other surgeons and just maneuvering this new hospital that was suddenly mine. I was annoyed at everybody, and I was aching for a surgery—I would have settled for anything, even like, a standard valve replacement, which would have been totally boring, but at the very least, I wouldn't want to claw my eyeballs out from all the monotonous administrative tasks I was doing."

Chuckles fill the spaces in the middle of them, as they silently watch Alex stitch and patiently wait for Cristina to catch her breath to continue.

"So then, this nurse named Leonard, who had apparently been at the hospital since it started, came up to me and asked if I could consult on this woman with blocked arteries, and he said there was no one else available. I was so excited for a possible surgery that I didn't even care that I was a last resort. Even as the freaking _owner_ of the hospital, no one wanted to come to me. I literally ran to that woman's room and God, Bailey would have been proud of my patient sensitivity skills at that moment, because that woman felt comfortable enough to tell me her whole life story."

"Oh God," Meredith exclaims, laughing out loud.

"Her boyfriend left her," Cristina says softly, and this time, she looks straight at Owen. "She was this forty-something year old woman who's been waiting for the right person, and she thought she finally found him. They were just about to build a life together, you know? They were going to get married on the beach, against the sunset, and she said her wedding song was going to be "Can't Help Falling in Love" by Elvis, and I told her my mom put that on repeat in the house when my dad died, even though she'd already remarried."

Owen's fingers press harder on Cristina's head, as if he is massaging her scalp, but Cristina knows that's just his way of saying that he gets it, that he understands this story and why it's unraveling in between them like moss against a browned hill.

"So what happened?" Alex asks, his hand still at Cristina's face. "Why'd he leave her?"

A small, sad smile creeps on the edge of Cristina's lips. "She doesn't know," she says aloud. "Maybe it was cold feet. Maybe they weren't meant to be, as horribly cliché as that sounds. She woke up one morning and he was gone, along with all of his stuff. And then that night, she felt suffocated, like her heart had stopped. Like the minute they were apart, she couldn't breathe."

There is an aching silence that sits there. Unspoken, but so excruciatingly loud, that Cristina sighs, desperately blocking it out.

"So she called 911, and the ambulance brought her to our hospital. Three hours later, I did a coronary artery bypass graft surgery on her, and she was released the following week. She was never admitted again," she concludes hastily, so she can say that she has finished. "And after that, no one treated me like a last resort again."

Meredith and Alex laugh, as Cristina sees the shadow of Alex's hand disappear "All done," he says, patting her shoulder. Right on time, a gust of wind hits their faces, and they all look up to see two helicopters whirling above their heads—lights waving around to search for an unbroken area to land on.

"Helicopters are here!" April's voice rings from the entrance of the venue. "Derek, bring Jackson out so we can load him in. I need everyone to help me transport all injured guests into the vehicles. I need all hands!"

"You got her, Owen?" Meredith urges, as she and Alex start to head towards the helicopters that land several feet behind them.

Owen looks down at Cristina and lifts her into his arms, so that he can carry her towards the closest helicopter. Her fingers grip the collar of his shirt, and she catches herself wanting to hang on for dear life. He nods at her, finally giving her the permission she is too stubborn to admit she needs.

 _Yes._

 _Yes, it's okay to feel safe._

 _It's okay to fall apart._

Cristina closes her eyes in relief, and exhales, just to reassure herself that she is breathing, too.

* * *

 **A/N: FORGIVE MEEEEE for the late update! For some reason, this story is rather difficult for me to write, and I don't know why that is, so I've had some bad writer's block for a few weeks. Also been busy with other stuff. But alas, here it is! Please leave a review if you can, and thank you so much for reading!**


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